


Sanders Found Family Circus

by parallelmonsoon



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Parental abuse, Gen, Running away from home, discovering yourself through circus shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parallelmonsoon/pseuds/parallelmonsoon
Summary: “Come on, Ro! What could be more trustworthy than a bus full of gross old carnies?”The neon lights of the truck stop flickered in erratic patterns across the rain slick curves of the bus. It looked like something old and refurbished, with rounded corners that reminded Roman vaguely of a Volkswagen beetle.Sanders Lost and Found Circus. The font was angular, the letters painted in a repeating pattern of yellow, purple, indigo, blue that shouldn't have worked but somehow did. Below the name emblazoned across both sides the bus had been painted, each scene rendered with such loving care to detail that they were almost surreally true to life.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41
Collections: TSS Fanworks Collective Discord Secret Santa





	Sanders Found Family Circus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fangirlwriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlwriting/gifts).



> Hello, giftee! I really, really hope you like this. I based it off an old prompt you posted with a bit of a circus twist. 
> 
> With special thanks to GoldenMeme, Alicat54, and Droid, who all helped beta. Another special thanks to Taylor for suggestions.

“Come on, Ro! What could be more trustworthy than a bus full of gross old carnies?”

The neon lights of the truck stop flickered in erratic patterns across the rain slick curves of the bus. It looked like something old and refurbished, with rounded corners that reminded Roman vaguely of a Volkswagen beetle.

Sanders Found Family Circus. The font was angular, the letters painted in a repeating pattern of yellow, purple, indigo, blue that shouldn't have worked but somehow did. Below the name emblazoned across both sides the bus had been painted, each scene rendered with such loving care to detail that they were almost surreally true to life.

A man with scales across half of his face- painted or tattooed, Roman wasn't sure. He stood powerful and tall, and the whip of flame he held lit his face from below.

A motley collection of dogs. Mutts all, ranging from tiny and piebald to giant and shaggy, prancing in a line with their tongues lolling.

What looked to be a scene from a shadow puppet show. A man bowing low before a fairy queen, and even in still silhouette his fear and her arrogance were plain.

A lithe form stretched out graceful inside a floating hoop, face obscured by a mask with many eyes and curving fangs- a spider.

It was beautiful, but Roman dug in his heels when Remus tried to drag him past it and into the truck stop. The rain was coming down steady and he was shivering, miserably cold and sodden under the thin protection of a designer jacket that was more distressed than posh these days. His hair was dripping into his eyes, but did he really want to risk the type who thought a circus was a viable career in this day and age?

Remus rolled his eyes at him. He was just as wet, but didn't seem bothered in the slightest- but then Remus hadn't seemed bothered by  _ anything _ that had gone wrong in the past few weeks.

Not when Roman had been mugged and half their money had disappeared with one snarled order. Not when Remus's rust bucket excuse for a motorcycle had finally wheezed its last in front of a farm of gawking horses. Not when their attempts at hitching failed, leaving them hoofing it more often than not.

Like tonight- they'd lucked into a ride to a gas station, but the attendant had made it clear they needed to move on. He'd been kind enough to point them here, at least, and the walk hadn't been terrible. A pleasant stroll, really- except for the dark and the rain and the cracking of thunder in the distance.

His brother's relentless ability to roll with the punches was something Roman used to admire. At the moment it just made him want to throttle his twin.

Roman gestured at the bus, a sort of  _ 'are you not seeing this'  _ wave. “It already happened once, I'm not getting mugged by a circus freak too!”

“Better than getting fucked by one,” Remus snapped back with a grin that showed his molars, and then he was pulling Roman along with enough force to make him yelp.

They stumbled inside swatting and pushing at each other. When they got themselves untangled Roman looked around cautiously. There really wasn't much to see- certainly no carnies (unless they looked just like everyone else, and Roman wasn't sure why  _ that _ struck him as the most ominous option of all.)

It was a truck stop just like every other truck stop they'd visited over the last nine months, and the bland familiarity was its own kind of comfort.

There was a convenience store off to one side, the sort of place that sold name magnets and collectible shot glasses. A tiny food court that served off-brand fast food, and in the back a diner for the real long haulers.

“I'm going to try and dry off- you coming?”

Remus shook his head until his white forelock flopped and flicked water into Roman's face. “Nah. I'll drip.” He slapped a hand out, wriggling his fingers expectantly. “Give.”

Roman dug in his pocket and pulled out their remaining cash. It was a distressingly thin stack, and he counted it twice before reluctantly handing over a five.

“Stay in the food court,” he said firmly.

Remus nodded.

Roman narrowed his eyes.

“Food court.” He pointed this time, staring his brother dead in the eye. Remus rolled his own again, shot Roman the finger, and wandered off in the right direction.

In the bathroom Roman wrinkled his nose at the smell- always the same, and always vile- and blotted himself off as best he could. Finished, he washed his hands and shook his head at his reflection.

Pasty, with a spattering of stress acne sprouting across his chin. Hair grown out to something shaggy and shapeless. Too skinny, cheekbones a little  _ too _ prominent.

His mouth twisted in a small moue of disgust.

_ 'I look more like a pauper than a Prince these days.' _

* * *

“Mr. Prince? Can you lift your chin just a touch to the left? Oh, perfect, lovely. Such structure!”

The lights were lancing his eyes. Roman kept them wide, turning to the side obligingly when his shoulder was nudged. The make-up artist gripped his chin with her sharp, lacquered nails and scolded him lightly when he jumped.

The shoot passed in the usual whirlwind of flashes and the blurred shadows of people milling about beyond the lights. Roman smiled without showing his teeth and ducked out as soon as he could without seeming impolite.

In the parking lot he let his shoulders slump from their perfect posture and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the tackiness of spray and wax. He tucked his hands into his pockets without care for the lines of his outfit and trudged toward his car.

And stopped short when he realized someone was leaning against the  Corvette .

A very *familiar* someone.

Or...mostly familiar. Remus had dyed a ridiculous white streak in his hair. He had even more piercings than Roman remembered- lining his ears, in his brow and his septum. He wore clothes that would have made their mother  _ weep _ . All scuffed, beaten leather and clustered spikes, thrift store finds on their third or fourth life.

He looked good.

He looked  _ happy _ . Even before he spotted Roman he was grinning to himself, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the car door behind him.

And then he  _ did _ spot him, and lit up like a kid in a commercial about the latest toy fad.

“If it isn't Perfect Prince Puke!” Remus threw both arms out wide. “You were in there so long I thought they'd skinned you for a trophy.”

“Re...”

The last time Roman had set eyes on his brother had been a year ago. Remus had looked mostly angry then.

“What are you even doing here?” he asked, “Mom looked everywhere...”

He faltered and trailed off, because Remus was giving him a look that said he damn well knew better.

“Queen of the Karenpies was glad to be rid of me and we both know it,” he said, “And I can't come see my own twin on his birthday?”

“ _ Our _ birthday,” Roman corrected, as if Remus somehow might not know.

Remus gave him an enthusiastic pair of finger guns. “ _ Exactly _ . Can you guess what I want for a present?”

Roman looked away.

He looked back when Remus growled and stomped his feet. It made Roman grin despite himself, a reminder of when they'd been small and Remus's tantrums would get him booted out of auditions.

Tantrums he had thrown for precisely that reason.

“At least come hang out with me for a few hours,” Remus wheedled. He jerked his thumb toward a battered old chopper of a bike a few spots down.

Roman shook his head. “I have plans...”

He could hear the waver in his own voice, and Remus's juicy raspberry said he could too.

“What? A four hour photo shoot and a 'surprise' party with mom's squad of squawking sour-faced sycophants?”

He cackled at his own joke, head thrown back- no one found Remus as hilarious as Remus found Remus.

Roman looked away again. Remus huffed and stomped over, ducking his head to look at Roman from only millimeters away.

“I asked you this a year ago,” he said, “I'm asking again. Aren't you  _ done _ ?”

He'd screamed it a year ago. Standing in the backyard, tears in his eyes, begging Roman not to make him leave him behind.

_ 'Really, Remus. Why can't you be more like your brother? Roman knows how to be a proper Prince.' _

Their mother had said it so calmly. Standing beside Roman, her hand hovering just over his shoulder, while her other son snarled curses and walked out of their lives.

_ 'Don't worry, darling. He'll be back.'  _ Her smile had been a mild press of her lips.  _ 'He's just upset he doesn't have your potential.' _

Remus was still waiting on an answer. The anger was back in his eyes but so were the tears, and his arms were folded across his chest.

Done.

Done with a modeling career Roman had never wanted in the first place.

Done with those tight lipped smiles and that hovering hand- couldn't risk mussing his shirt, after all.

Done with being the 'better' twin. The one who stayed. The one who obeyed.

Done with his  _ potential _ . Something he had to live up to, but somehow could never quite reach.

“Yes.”

He wasn't planning on saying it. It came as a gasp, raw and cracking, and then Roman was shaking his head, sharp and nearly frantic, without any idea of what he's saying 'no' to.

“Yes.  _ Please _ . I'm done. I want to be done.”

“Well.” Remus's grin was hyena wide and just as savage. “Then let's  _ go _ , bitch.”

* * *

Nine months older and nine months wiser, Roman stood in a mildew crusted bathroom and forced himself to believe that this life was better than the one he'd left behind.

He slung his pack back over his shoulder, gave his hair one last tousle, and headed back out to the food court.

And sighed hugely, tipping his head back toward the ceiling and squeezing the bridge of his nose.

No Remus.

Why Roman had thought for a second that things would go any differently he couldn't fathom.

At the diner the hostess behind the podium glanced at him, did a double take, and jerked her thumb toward the back. There was no question Remus had passed by, then, and she had obviously pegged him as the jerkass's twin.

Roman heard Remus before he saw him. That braying laugh had a way of bouncing off walls. He turned the corner...

_ Of course. _

Proud and scaled was instantly recognizable. They  _ were _ tattooed, exquisitely done with a luster that made them look uncomfortably close to the real thing. He sat with his arms crossed, face still save for one brow that drifted ever higher as he considered Remus, who stood with his hip pressed against the carnies' table like he owned it.

The guy beside him was ignoring Remus entirely- smart. He had his head bent over a notebook, chewing idly on the cap of his pen between rapid little notations. He wore a tie, of all things, and the overall impression was of an accountant who had been kidnapped straight from the tax office and hadn't yet noticed.

Perched in the very corner of the booth (literally perched- he was crouched on the seat cushion like he meant to pounce) was a boy around Roman's age. He wore a hoodie and the most pointlessly aggressive glower Roman had ever had the displeasure of having turned his way. Even without the mask the distinct spidery vibes made it easy to guess his deal.

Across from the trio sat a man with a build that defined beefcake, as uncouth a description as that was. He twisted to look back at Roman when Black Widon't went on glaring and smiled instead. A smile that was the uber smile, a just right curve that radiated warmth.

Had to be the dog act. Only a guy with a dog act had that kind of smile.

“Ro!” Remus came ambling over, threw an arm around Roman's neck, hissed 'play along' in his ear, and tugged him over. “Come meet my new best friends. I was just telling them all about your life long dream of shooting yourself from a cannon.”

“I apologize for him,” Roman said stiffly.

The burly guy laughed. “No worries, kiddo! Your brother was just telling us you're in a bit of a tight spot.” The broad, bearded face crumbled with sympathy.

“Mmmm.” Serpentor's flat, assessing stare was somehow more intimidating than  Good Charlotte’s Web’s scowl. “I understand you're looking for work.”

Roman blinked.

“Excuse us for a moment.”

He got a grip on Remus's upper arm, digging deep with his fingers. “Gotta have a bro-on-bro conference call!” Remus called back as he was hauled up the aisle.

“What are you  _ doing, _ ” Roman snarled.

“Saving your flat ass bacon,” Remus shot back, “They said they were down a few members, couldn't hack it. I told them we would fetch and carry for letting us hitch. What the fuck is the problem, Ro? We're almost out of cash, and if it comes down to it I will not hesitate to eat you before you get me first.”

Roman had to breathe out hard through his nose to keep himself from shouting.

“They're- we don't know anything about them, Re!”

He peeked around his twin's head to look back to the booth. The other three were talking, but Cobra-La was still giving him that same level stare. Roman squeaked and ducked back so Remus was blocking him from view.

“I don't want to be murdered and used as a prop!” he whined.

“Ro.” Remus put both hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “What is the other option?”

Roman opened his mouth. Shut it. Hemmed, hawed, hesitated, and finally gave in with a groan that came from the bottom of his lungs. Remus grinned and patted his cheek, and now Roman was the one stumbling after his brother as he was towed along.

“Presenting for dootie,” Remus said cheerfully. Roman didn't think the group caught the pun, but he cringed on principal.

“Nope.” Arachobnoxious popped the 'p' in a ridiculously irritating way. “I veto.”

“Now, now, Virgil...we took  _ you _ in.” The world's cuddliest lumberjack tried to whisper it, but his voice wasn't built for it and somehow broke louder. “And we  _ do _ need more hands.”

He sighed heavy, smile twisting down into a melancholy frown that made Roman want to hug him. “I still can't believe Remy and Emile just left like that.”

The tattooed man hummed again. Roman was already starting to despise that hum.

“If we agree to this, you will  _ work _ . You slack, you're gone.” He rested his chin on his hand and looked them up and down. “I assume you're both of age?”

His raised brow said he knew better, but Roman nodded along when Remus bobbed his head.

“Very well. Logan? It's your call.”

That took Roman aback. He had assumed Addercadabra was the leader of the troupe, but the way they all turned to the kidnapped accountant, expectant and respectful, made it clear where the real center of power was.

It took a moment for the man to look up from his notebook. The pen was still in his mouth, and he let it dangle and drop before adjusting his glasses to eye them over the rims.

“We have a show tomorrow. Let's see how they do.”

Remus whooped. The nerd- Logan- held up his hand sharply.

“As Janus said, this life is not easy. It demands much and gives little, and that is for people who chose it. Emile and Remy were only the latest- we have parted ways with five people since the start of this tour. You will be tested, and we will not coddle you.”

It was a monologue worthy of any movie with a grizzled captain and raw recruits. Logan stood to offer them his hand, two precise pumps to each, then wiped his palm on his shirt with zero concern for any offense it might cause.

“Logan Sanders.”

The tattooed man kept his own hands steepled on the table.“You can call me Janus.”

Roman backed up a quick step when Not So Iron Giant rose to his feet. A huge hand came forward, and Roman swallowed before he gave up his own to its grip.

...and of course the shake was so gentle, so careful, that Roman had to stifle a snort. He wasn't *that* delicate.

“I'm Patton Sanders!” He giggled at the twin's surprise. “Yeah, Logan's my big brother. And you're Roman- Remus has told us  _ all _ about you.”

“Hell, yeah I did.” Remus's shit eating grin only stretched wider at Roman's glare. “Told 'em you love biting the head off chickens. Right, Ro bro?”

“I really do apologize for him,” Roman said to the group at large.

Patton rumbled a chuckle and sat back down in the booth, scooting over as far as he could and gesturing at the narrow strip left in invitation for them to cram in. Roman tolerated Remus' pointy chicken wing elbow digging into his side with only a sigh.

All eyes turned to the grimacing gargoyle in the corner. It got them a hiss- something Roman was fairly sure spiders didn't do, so  _ somebody _ was a little off brand.

Roman jumped when Janus hissed back. Louder and sharper, a sibilant sound that rattled on and exposed a tongue split down its length.

If nothing else, Roman had to admire  _ his _ dedication.

The teen dropped his chin and looked away

“Virgil.” It was a sullen mumble. “And I still don't like them.”

Roman glanced at Remus. Brows high, eyes wide, an expression meant to convey  _ 'I really do think the circus bus may be a murder bus.' _

Remus waggled his own back, and  _ 'Yeah, isn't it grand?' _ came through loud and clear.

“Here you go!” Patton passed them a single menu to share. “Order whatever you like- yes, Logan, I'm paying. I'm so gosh darn barking happy that you two are coming along!”

“Eh.” Virgil's sneer was slow and sinister, and Roman had zero doubts that he practiced in front of a mirror three times a day. “They'll be gone by noon tomorrow. I'd bet my mask on it.”

* * *

“Did you move them?”

Roman sighed and crossed his arms.

“I didn't touch your silks.”

...unless he did? Ten minutes ago he would have sworn in court he hadn't set eyes on them, but then again...he did misplace one of Logan's puppets after last night's show. They'd all had to hunt for it, and maybe Roman  _ had _ done something equally stupid with Virgil's things. It did seem like something he would do.

“No,” Roman said more firmly after a moment of thought, “You've told me repeatedly that if I do, you'll slather my jugular in peanut butter so the mutt squad will lick through it in my sleep.”

Virgil squinted suspiciously at him. He was already dressed for the show, a skintight leotard that made him look graceful instead of what he was- scrawny.

“...can you help me?”

They were stuffed under his bunk, of course, the first place Roman had suspected and the last place he'd looked, because Virgil had sworn up and down that he'd already checked there.

Virgil accused him of planting them because he was an emo flavored  _ nightmare _ , then mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'thank you' and slapped him on the shoulder. He gave Roman an odd look when it made him jump, then scampered off to harass someone else.

“Roman!”

Patton's voice rolled across the camp like a foghorn. Roman hopped down from the bus and dashed across to the tent that loomed over the rest.

“Sorry!” He was panting as he unzipped it and slipped inside. “Sorry! I got hung up with Virgil.”

He got another odd look from Patton for his panic. “Relax, kiddo! You're only a few minutes late. No reason to have a furball.”

Roman chuckled. “That's cats, Pat.”

Patton winked at him, or tried. It was more of a full face scrunch.

“I like cats too! I'm just allergic- and anyway, I'm not sure they'd like traveling so much.” He gave a despondent sigh at the lack of felines in his life. “Now...I'll get the biggins ready if you can work on the littles?”

Roman nodded and dropped to his knees, and was immediately swarmed by 'the trio'- three who-knew-what mixes with spotted coats and flickering tongues. Well-trained as they are, the dogs were always over excited before a show, and Roman fended them off with a laugh before managing to corral Boba Fetch between his knees.

Patton had already laid the costumes out- something he wouldn't have needed to bother with if Roman had been there on time. Roman dragged Boba's closer and got the little clip-on rat ears positioned easily enough, but the gray coat just didn't want to lay right.

He grunted, tugging it this way and that. Twice he had to stop to rescue a plush rat tail from a tug of war between the other two pups, and Boba wasn't making things easier with the way he was wagging with his whole body.

Roman was just starting to get frustrated when Patton looked over from where he was strapping Jabba the Mutt, a plausible almost-Saint-Bernad, into his own get-up.

“Oops! Wrong one,  kiddo . It's too small- Boba's has the ruffle around the neck, remember?”

Roman cringed.

“...sorry.” It was a mumble, muffled even further by how he had his chin tucked to his chest.

He swapped out Arf Maul's coat for the one with the ruffle, did up the velcro, hooked a naked pink tail to the loop at the rear, and set Boba loose. The next two dogs went more smoothly, and soon three happy little rats were happily munching their breakfasts, bookended by the two R.O.U.Ss that were Jabba and Chewbarka.

Roman was putting the food away when a giant hand patted his head. Paft paft paft, so gentle, and it made Roman jump again but it also made him smile despite the squirmy feeling in his belly.

“Thanks, slugger! You were a big help, like always.”

Roman frowned at him. His eyes searched Patton's for any hint of insincerity, but he knew already it wouldn't be there. Earnest was the only mode the guy had.

“I messed up,” he pointed out, “again.”

Just a few days ago he'd almost given Luke Skybarker the prescription diet meant for Maul. It wouldn't have hurt him, but it had still been careless.

The entire last three weeks had been like that. Never anything major, but Roman couldn't seem to get through a day without doing  _ something _ that showed his incompetence.

Patton shrugged. “You've only been here a month, champ, and there's a whole lot to remember.” He patted Roman's head again, this time giving his hair a little tousle. “You're doing great, and I don't know  _ howl _ I ever got along without you. Quit  _ hounding _ yourself so hard, yeah?”

He giggled at his own puns, but his eyes were serious as he held Roman's gaze.

Roman bit his lip. He offered up a tiny nod and tried to edge away, but Patton just went on  _ looking _ at him. His hand was on Roman's shoulder now, heavy and burning and comforting.

“...yeah, okay,” he said finally, “Thanks, Pat.”

* * *

“Come sit down, darling.”

Roman did as he was told and took a seat on the far side of the couch from his mother. Like her, he sat with a straight back, feet firmly planted on the floor and arms resting in his lap.

She started the recording, and Roman watched himself walk the runway. Or really he was watching his mother from the corner of his eye, stomach clenching every time she pressed her lips together or shook her head ever so slightly.

“You're too fast on the turns still.” She paused, rewound, and played it through again a half dozen times, and Roman nodded in agreement.  _ Much _ too fast, like he hadn't been practicing at all. “And you really must try and keep your eyes open wider! You have such pretty eyes, Roman, don't you want to share them with the world?”

It went on like that for several hours. Picking. Sometimes Roman pictured her as a crow, shiny and sleek, and it only made his stomach roil harder. That wasn't fair. She only wanted-

“Don't look so sullen, dear. A Prince needs to be perfect, and I know you have it in you. I'm only trying to help.”

* * *

Assisting Janus was next on the agenda, but the man’s tent was empty. 

Roman huffed, reversed course, and headed for the trailer.

The Sanders Sides convoy had a grand total of three vehicles: the bus, where they lived and slept while on the road, Logan's sturdy little pick-up, and the trailer where the bigger equipment was stored. It had been emptied out that morning when they set-up for the show for that afternoon, and Janus was sitting inside, artfully arranged on a set of crates in a way that made them seem like a throne.

Roman was never sure where he stood with the man, but say what you would about Janus- he had the  _ presence _ to spare.

Remus was with him- no surprise there. He grinned wicked when he saw Roman.

“Ro! Check this shit out.”

Roman already knew what was coming, but he still gagged when Remus whipped out a nail, picked up a hammer, and proceeded to  _ hammer it up his damn nose. _

“Much smoother,” he said weakly.

Remus waggled his tongue at him before turning a pleading look on Janus. That he still had a nail protruding from his  _ face _ made it look bizarre.

Janus considered him, tapping his gloved fingers against his lips as he thought.

Finally he nodded. Slow and overdone, a king passing favorable judgment on a hopeful peasant.

“Fuck yeah!” Remus pumped his fist. “I-”

He shut his mouth so abruptly it clicked when Janus held up a finger.

“Blockhead and glass walking  _ only _ . No talking. We'll work on your banter more later. Agreed?”

Remus sagged a little, but he knew better by now than to try and argue. Instead he flipped the hammer around and made an incredible production of extracting the nail, grimacing and rolling his eyes like a man in agony.

The audience was either going to love it or vomit, Roman thought.

“Here you go, bro. Little souvenir for ya.”

Roman backpedaled with a thick noise of disgust when Remus tried to hand him the nail. He stopped brandishing it immediately when Janus cleared his throat.

“Go tell Logan you're joining the show today,” he said, “I'm positive he'll  _ adore _ the change in schedule.”

Roman shook his head with a grin at the way Remus scurried to obey like one of Patton's pups. He could almost picture the tail wagging merrily behind him as Remus trotted down the trailer's ramp.

Janus shook his head slowly. Janus did most things slowly. His fastest speed when he wasn't handling a whip seemed to be an elegant saunter.

“That boy was meant for the stage.”

Roman snorted, then blushed at the unsophisticated sound.

“Oh...it's just Remus used to  _ hate _ performing,” he said in answer to Janus's questioning look, “We used to model, and when we were little he would throw the most  _ horrendous _ tantrums.”

Then they had gotten older, and Remus had just flatly refused to attend auditions or shows. Their mother had despaired at first- twin models were a hot commodity, and as a set they were worth much more than the sum of their parts.

_ 'Why can't you be more like Roman?' _ had been a constant refrain, though Roman thought it had hurt  _ him _ to hear far more than it had Remus.

Janus cocked his head.

“You look pensive...how frightfully boring.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “If you're going to brood, go find Virgil.”

Despite his words he nudged forward the make-up case at his feet with the toe of his loafer. Roman took the hint and bent to heft it, rooting through until he found the foundation.

“Your brother loves attention,” Janus said as Roman started applying it, “Anyone who has met him for five minutes know  _ that _ . But, like most people, he wants it on his terms.”

Roman laughed. “Fair enough.”

Remus  _ had _ been working very hard over the past month. Harder than Roman had ever known him to work at anything. Once he had realized Janus was willing to teach him the sort of old sideshow tricks that made audiences cringe, he'd attached himself to the man and actually  _ applied _ himself.

The make-up went swiftly. Roman was a pro with the brushes, and it helped that he only needed to do one side. He held his breath when Janus picked up the mirror.

Janus hummed- Roman still hated that damn hum- and examined himself from every possible angle for a long moment.

“Good.”

Just that, with very little inflection. Roman beamed.

Janus stood and brushed off his complicated costume.

“You know...” He spoke without looking at Roman, twisting instead to pick up his hat and dust off the top. “You might consider joining him.”

Roman startled.

Then he stiffened, folding his arms across his chest and drawing himself up.

“I guess a twin act would help draw a crowd, wouldn't it,” he said evenly.

Janus did turn then, and gave Roman a look that was deeply unimpressed.

“I suggest it because I've seen the way you carry yourself and the way you watch us during the show. The way you talk to people when you sell tickets. You have charisma. You have drive. Have you truly never considered it?”

This time it was Roman who looked away.

The shows were...awe inspiring wasn't quite right.  _ Magical _ was closer. And that moment at the end, when the troupe took their bows and the crowd surged to their feet. Faces alight, clapping thunderous-

“...I wanted to be on Broadway when I was little,” he admitted, “But mother said-”

Janus scoffed.

“I don't care,” he said simply, “Mothers say many things, and I certainly don't see her here. If  _ you _ want to perform, you should perform.”

Roman squirmed and toed the ground.

“What would I even do?” he burst out, “And what if I'm no good at it?”

“Then you learn and get better. Or you try, realize it isn't for you, and try something else. As for what to do...” Janus put his fingers against his lips again as he thought for a moment. “You might ask Virgil to teach you juggling. It's a place to start, at least.”

He ducked his head to place his hat, then picked up the staff he used during the show. Roman looked down in surprise when Janus tapped it against his chest.

“Bit of advice, dear boy...try getting out of your own way. You'll find life  _ much _ more amusing.”

He swept past and left Roman blinking after him.

* * *

The grass softened the fall of the pins to a gentle thud instead of a clatter.

Roman groaned. His shoulders crept up around his ears.

“Hey, no, that was better,” Virgil said, “But you're still not committing. You just need to stop thinking so much.”

Roman gave him a  _ look _ that made Virgil roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, the irony coming from me.” He spun a hand in a circle. “Still true though.”

Roman nodded glumly. He stooped to collect the pins, picking up the first two with their necks slotted between his fingers.

_ 'A Prince needs to be perfect.' _

A sudden boil of frustration had him throwing the pins back down. One bounced back and almost hit in the face, and that only made him snarl.

“This is stupid! I'm never going to get this! Mother was right- if you can't do it right you shouldn't do it!”

Chest heaving, he stared at Virgil as if daring him to argue.

Virgil stared back wide-eyed, then slowly raised both hands as if trying to placate something wounded and fierce. “Whoa...okay. Let's just take a breath, yeah? That was...a lot to unpack.”

The frustration pinched into a tight knot of embarrassment that quickly. Roman tipped his face back to the cloudy sky and pinched the bridge of his nose before plopping down to sit cross-legged in the midst of his latest mess.

He dropped his head into his hands and stared at the slashes of grass he could see between his fingers. A shadow darkened them as Virgil padded over. Roman waited to be mocked, to be told this wasn't how a Prince acted.

A gentle hand touched his hair. Roman choked on a sob and folded forward against Virgil's flat belly.

He felt Virgil stagger a bit before he braced himself and let Roman lean in against him. An awkward hand patted his back, and that made Roman laugh through his tears.

It felt like he cried for a long, long time. When it finally started to ease Roman pulled back and wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve without even cringing.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“S'okay.” Virgil dropped down to sit across from him. He plucked idly at the grass for a moment and squinted at the looming clouds like he was threatening them to try something. When he finally looked at Roman he wore a wry grin. “Looks like you can get messy after all,  your Highness .”

Roman snorted and wiped his eyes again. He was a mess alright.

“Sorry,” he said again. He nudged the nearest pin and watched it roll a little distance. “I just- I'm not supposed to fail like this.”

Virgil laughed at him.

Loudly, with a cackling edge, but somehow-somehow it wasn't  _ mean _ . Roman still scrunched up his face at him.

“Sorry,” Virgil said on a gasp. He was still giggling. “That's just- it's  _ dumb _ , Roman. Everybody fucks up.”

He gave Roman a poke on the shoulder, hard enough to make him gasp in mock offense.

“I'll tell you about the time I broke my ankle doing the same show I've done a hundred times before someday. Hell- I missed that turn a few shows ago and fell, 'member? Shit happens. You roll with it.”

“...that's not what I was taught.” The bitter note in Roman's voice surprised him. “Had to get it right, first time every time. Because of my  _ potential _ .”

He spat the last, and oh...he was angry. He had never realized how  _ angry _ he was before.

Roman was staring with a pinched brow at the pin in front of him. He peeked up at Virgil when the other boy was silent for a long moment and found him staring at him thoughtfully.

“Sorry,” Roman said for a third time.

Virgil waved that aside. “You're afraid of fucking up, right?” He waited until Roman dipped his chin in a tiny nod. “Well, what if you did it on purpose? Then you don't have to worry about it.”

“...what?”

Virgil flashed a grin and unfolded himself, popping to his feet with insulting grace. He offered Roman a hand and hauled him up, and the strength in that wiry frame never failed to surprise him. He grunted when Virgil slapped his back.

“We need to find Logan. I got an idea...”

* * *

“Roman.” Logan's hand was broad and warm on his back. “Slow your breathing. You’ve been working on this for three months. I would not be letting you do this if I were not confident you would do fine. I am putting my reputation on the line tonight as well, remember?”

It wasn't the most inspiring speech perhaps, but Roman found it oddly bolstering. Logan took his little show very, very seriously.

If he said Roman was ready, then Roman was ready.

A snort directly in his ear made him grimace. Remus leaned in against his shoulder so heavily that Roman almost toppled over.

“And remember...if you do mess up, the fuckers will never know anyway!”

Roman set a hand on his brother's face and pushed him off. “Love you too, Re.”

Logan quirked the mildest smile at their antics. He looked out through the opening in the curtain, then tipped his chin toward the stage.

“He's almost finished. It's time.”

Roman took a good, deep breath and looked toward Remus one last time. His twin shimmied his shoulders and proudly shot up double birds, making Logan recoil ever so slightly in disgust.

Somehow it was just what he needed. Roman turned on his heel and stepped out under the lights.

Virgil was in his final spins on his hoop, body twirling at dizzying speed. Roman didn't call attention to himself at first. Just sauntered over to watch from a little distance, hand on his chin.

He peeked over at the audience and sure enough- some of them were nudging each other and pointing. Taking note of the clown in his terribly tasteful prince regalia (might as well own it, Janus had said, and Roman was glad he'd gone along.)

Virgil dropped into his dismount and paid Roman no mind at all, sweeping into a sinuous bow before walking off, chasing by hoots and applause.

Roman turned to stare after Virgil. Looked back to the hoop. Back to Virgil. Back to the hoop. Lit up bright, eyes wide and mouth shaping a perfect 'o'.

Idea.

The audience tittered when Roman paced around the hoop in a circle. He reached out with one hand to give it a tentative push, jumping back with exaggerated shock when it swung. Still he puffed himself up brave and clambered into it.

This had been the hardest thing to learn- it looked like he had no idea what he was going as he spun and flailed, but doing it *safely* had meant learning a carefully choreographed routine. It ended with him dangling by one foot, 'trapped' and scowling as he tried to wiggle free.

He'd been so focused on his movements that he didn't hear the audience until he was hanging upside down.

They were laughing. At Roman. Pointing and chuckling and shaking their heads at his foolishness.

It was *wonderful.*

Virgil appeared a few seconds to 'rescue' him, helping him down and sternly pointing a finger off stage. Roman hung his head and trudged out, tipping his head to hide his silly, beaming grin from the crowd.

It went like that through the night. Roman followed each act, watching the final moments enviously, tentatively attempting to duplicate, and failing in the most spectacular ways.

He stole Janus's fire whip and set a planted prop alight, gawking in terror before running for an extinguisher.

Tried to play with the puppets and knocked over their screen, toeing the stage sheepishly as Logan scolded him.

Slipped in with the pups during Patton's Pied Piper routine, only for them to all turn on him and chase him off at a subtle gesture from the big man.

Tried to hammer a nail up his nose and 'swallowed' it instead, patting his belly down in a panic.

The audience ate it up. Roman makes mistakes- in positioning, in timing- but Remus was right. It didn't matter. Virgil was right. Shit happened. Next time would be better, and right now the crowd was both laughing and cheering on his attempts to be a part of a group that had already welcomed him. 

At the close of the night he ventured out one last time. This time he's sauntering, with five juggling clubs slotted between his fingers. He gave the audience a broad wink.

If he dropped them, it would just be part of the act. He'd snap his fingers in frustration, pout, and walk off.

He didn’t drop them.

It was far from the best juggling in the land, but the audience gave him a standing ovation anyway. There was another standing ovation for all of the performers a few minutes later. Roman stood with Remus's and Virgil's hands in his and took his bow, and he was glad for the greasepaint that hid his tears.

Backstage he was mobbed. Hugs and back slaps and hair ruffled until it tangled, and it didn't feel strange in the slightest anymore. Even Janus deigned to shake his hand.

“Finally got out of your own way by getting in ours,” he says, but Roman caught the smile twisting the corner of the tattooed lips.

* * *

Hours later Roman was still riding the high.

He laid in his bunk, a narrow little space that used to feel claustrophobic but now just felt cozy. The small, warm lump that was Boba Fetch was curled up against his side. He couldn't stop grinning.

The rain was coming down hard. It drummed against the roof, almost drowning out Remus's rattling snores and the quiet conversation between Janus and Patton.

It made Roman think of that day months ago, when he'd stood shivering in a truck stop parking lot and balked at coming in out of the wet because he was afraid of a painted bus and the people inside it.

Now he was warm and dry. Now that same bus was his home, and those people were fast becoming family.

He turned onto his side, careful not to disturb Boba, and tried to settle. He was exhausted, aching with it, the need for sleep a gritty crust on his eyelids. But the excitement of the night was still thrumming in his belly and he kept replaying it, the crowd rising to their feet. For  _ him _ .

He was already thinking of bigger and better things to add to his act. Already imagining how it might be years down the road.

Not just a dozen people laughing for him but hundreds...

...thousands...

Roman fell asleep to the sound of the rain and dreamed of hope in his own endless potential.

  
  



End file.
